There Are No Coincidences
by Void.Of.Memory
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dorian Gray meet in a hansom on their way home from the club. They decide to meet again, and lights a fire of passion between them. But Holmes has a secret. A secret that could kill Gray. M for some language and two men in an alley.
1. The meeting, among other things

**All characters belong to their respective authors. **

**[A/N: Holmes is mostly from the books, but the Watson/ Holmes relationship is more from the recent movie. Gray is more from the 2009 movie, but some aspects are from the books. Some literary liberties have been taken.]**

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><p>Dorian<p>

The two of us met the way you expect men like us to meet: through our vices. I was looking for anyone who'd let me fuck them, some opium and a bottle of gin. He was looking for people with problems that he could solve, and, more often than not, cocaine. My usual shit-hole gin house had been shut down by the police for tax reason, and I had decided to buy the place if it wasn't up and running by the end of the week. I may have squandered much of my uncle's fortune on my pleasures, but not to the point where I couldn't buy one shit gin house. He, on the other hand, would have welcomed the change. 'Routine is boring.' He'd tell me, 'If one gets comfortable in their life, then their life is boring.' I tried not to listen to his advice too much. My life was the way it was because of Harry's advice. I knew better than anyone where that's gotten me.

Our meeting was completely by chance, but he didn't believe in chance. 'Everything has a reason for happening. There are no coincidences.' I'd ask him what the reason for us meeting was. He wouldn't answer most of the time. We had hailed the same hansom to take us back to our respective domiciles. He had just finished doing cocaine, and the stink of it filled the small carriage. I was long gone on gin and women, so I barely noticed. We didn't speak at first. He was staring at me, in such a way I though it was an effect of the cocaine, but after a few blocks, he shifted and tapped his chin. ' So you're Dorian Grey, the man who has sinned more than thought possible for one man, and still keep his face.'

I nodded curtly. ' And you are Sherlock Holmes, detective extraordinaire. I found many of the cases you solved to be extraordinary, the way you found the answer hidden in the smallest clue. But I would have thought someone of your knowledge would keep out of the things of the common vagabond.'

'But that knowledge is precisely why I do it. I cannot expect to understand the minds of those I hunt if I do not join them in their escapades. And my current case has hit a dead end. I need something to stimulate my mind.'

I blinked. For the amount I'd seen him take, and I amount I didn't see, he was surprisingly well spoken and calm.

'You have adapted yourself to the gin you drink, Mr. Gray, as I have I adapted to the things I inject.' he said, as simple as if he was stating a fact.

'How did you know I was thinking that?' I asked, stumbling slightly over my words. I may have adapted to my vice, but I still felt its bite. Unlike this man, apparently.

'It is my trade to know what people's hidden thoughts are.' He cocked his head slightly. 'Some may believe I have a compact with the Devil, a ridiculous notion, to attain the prowess I have. Just as it is whispered you have sold your soul to stay young.'

I tried not to flinch. 'How to you know me, Sir?'

'You have not gone unnoticed. I was hired by the family of a Basil Hallward to investigate his death. Quite suspicious, I'd say. He was the man who painted your portrait, was it not? A portrait that has not been seen since.'

My face clenched, and I started to sweat, as I did whenever Basil was mentioned. It wasn't noticeable, it was more of a mental thing really, but somehow, this Mr. Holmes noticed the slight change in my demeanor.

'Ah, so you did have something to do with his death.' he nodded, then gave an offhand gesture. 'Don't look at me like that, man. The family gave up, and took me off the case.'

I gave a slight nod, not sure really what to do. He had said I was involved, which I was, but I didn't want to fully acknowledge him. I still denied that I killed Basil. I thought he was going to drop the subject and lapse back into his silence like before, but to no avail.

'But, just out of curiosity, what happened to the poor bugger?'

I was drunk. I knew that. When I was drunk, I let loose, I didn't think of tomorrow, like Harry taught me. I should have kept my tongue in check, to anyone else, it would have gotten my secret exposed and my life ruined. But this man. This 'Sherlock Holmes'... The way his eyes sparkled with his drug, the hunched posture that reminded me of an eagle, the tall lean figure of his... It made me drop my guard. I spoke before I even noticed.

'I had a friend, Alan Campbell, turn him to ash.'

'Hmmm, Alan Campbell, Alan Campbell. Ah yes! Committed suicide not long ago, did he not?'

I mumbled that he was correct.

Holmes shook his head, eyes closed. When he did open them again, they were even brighter, wolfish, almost. He leaned in and reached out with a spidery finger. 'You are a most intriguing man, Mr. Gray.' His skin was ice cold against my face. 'I should very much-'

'Oi! One of you's stop is 'ere!' the driver shouted, unseen. I started, and Holmes retracted his hand from my face. I peered out to find my own home through the slight London fog. I tipped my hat to my fellow passenger. 'Perhaps we can talk further about mysteries Mr. Holmes, yours and mine. Call on me tomorrow.' my voice shook. I jumped down from the cab, my shoes clacking on the cobblestones, drowning out his reply. I lifted a hand in farewell, but the hansom was already trotting off down the road.

'I shall have to prepare for tomorrow!' I thought to myself. 'If he has weaseled one confession out of me, he shan't do it again!'

I let myself in, glancing at the stairs to see if my entrance had gone unnoticed. It had thankfully. I made my way up to my room. I flung myself on to my bed, and fell unconscious before I had time to undress. I had fallen into the gin's grip; if I had truly fallen asleep, I would have dreamed of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock

There he went, that boy, stumbling out of the carriage. I called out that I'd come early, but he hadn't seemed to have heard me. I went over the facts I had about the boy in my head. The large fortune he had inherited, his parents dead long before he turned 5, the vicious scandals that invade all conversation when his name came up. But, most suspicious of all: his complete lack of ageing. He looked as old as he did when I first heard his name. That was long before Basil Hallward. There was news of a young girl, Sybil Vane, who had committed suicide. It was rumored that her and Dorian had been betrothed. The news of their marriage bored me, but the curious nature of her death was interesting. It wasn't long after that Mr. Gray's name began to appear in the gutter world of the docks, whispered in the night in the brothels and clubs. The cabbie called out our arrival at 221 B Baker St., interrupting my musing. I got off and, in not much better shape then Mr. Gray, got myself upstairs. Watson was waiting, drinking some brandy and read the evening news.

Holmes!' he cried when he saw me. 'Where have you been? It's nearly three!'

'I was- I was out. Though, I met a most interesting gentleman on the hansom home. One mister Dorian Gray.' Watson gasped. 'You've heard of him, no doubt?'

'Holmes, he is one of the most infamous men of London. I have been reading about him in the paper and my clients have told me stories. They say he has personally ruined the lives of all of his friends. Three of them are dead, two by suicide, and four more have been shamed by their families. What ever were you doing with a man like that?' He demanded.

'Ah, Watson! Ever so diligent with my well being!'

'Not diligent enough, I'd say.' He spat disgustedly, 'You've been to the club again. How much Holmes? How much did you manage to inject into yourself before you couldn't hold the needle still?'

'Now Watson. I have done this before and-'

'Yes Holmes, that's why I'm worried. You have to stop. I am sick of waiting up for you to come home, strung out and insane. Or worse, you not coming home at all, and having to find you hovelled up in some shack, trying to conduct experiments on flies.' I tired to interrupt, but Watson wouldn't have it. 'No, Holmes. In three weeks, you'll be on your own. You'd better get use to not having a nanny to look after you.'

'Watson, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don't need you to-'

' Oh, you don't need me, do you? You think that- that boy- Dorian Gray will do anything for you?' Watson exploded. 'Well, then, you can just get on by yourself then!'

'No, Watson, I merely meant-'

'No Holmes.' Watson shouted firmly. 'I will not put up with this.' He shook his head, then pointed to the door. 'Get out.'

'Now Watson, let's not-'

'Get out Holmes.'

'I see you're tired and upset. There is no use talking to you when you're like this. I will go. It will be better for both of us. A little rest will fix everything.'

'No, Holmes.' Watson muttered. 'It won't '

'Whatever did I do to receive such fury from you Watson?'

'You, Mary and I were having diner tonight Holmes! I told you last week, and yesterday. You knew about this! But you didn't even show up! You didn't even have the decency to show up!'

I couldn't say anything back to that. He was right, I had missed the diner. But why? I couldn't remember; the cocaine reduced the whole evening to a hazy blur.

'Just leave Holmes.' He sighed. 'Just- just go.'

I nodded, and swept out the door. I wasn't too bothered by this; like Watson had said, I had many places to stay, especially as I was. One of them was close enough to Mr. Gray's house. I took a hansom there, and got myself the usual room. It was its own sort of hell there; all my musing written on the wall, the broken bits of paneling and cracks from my drug-induced violence, the stench of vomit and reek of stale urine, partly my own. I fell down onto the small palate, and didn't get back up. Watson throwing me out haunted my dreams, then Dorian welcoming me back in.

Dorian

I woke up, the smell of my own sweat thick in the room. I rolled over, and saw a cloud of my own vomit on the floor. My head pounded as I tried to stand. I flung open the curtains, but was greeted by the cheerless sight of London fog. The sun hadn't risen yet; I glanced at the clock. The hands hadn't passed the 6th hour. I collapsed back on the bed, my vision swirling. I blacked out but not for nearly long enough. It was only ten now, and my head was still throbbing. I don't know what I had done differently; I drank as much, more even, then I usually did. When I drank like that, the whole afternoon was a blur. But today, I even remember what happened last night, even the hansom ride home. The ride home... Holmes! I rung the bell, the noise echoing in my head. My servant came up. I ordered him to draw a bath and prepare for a guest later. He bowed himself out. I looked in disgust at the state I was in; my hair damp with sweat, livery ruined by drink and women. I pulled off my attire and padded into the lavatory in my bathrobe. The house was silent and cold, like it had been since I had killed Basil. His presence seemed to linger everywhere. Sometimes, I even could even hear voice, his laugh, his moan. I shuddered at the though. I could hear the whispers now, reverberating from his coffin. I froze as I heard a cough. It sounded so close. I rushed to the rail and scanned the first floor. A man was standing in the doorway. Sleeved rolled to his elbows and he was carrying his hat in his hands. He was a mess.

'Hello?' he called.

I rushed to the bathroom and ordered my manservant to deal with the man. I wash up, shaved and dressed properly. There was a rap on the door.

'Sir,' my butler asked, 'There is a man at the door asking for you. He says his name is Sherlock Holmes. Shall I see him in?'

The blood rushed to my face as I remembered his wintery brush. 'Yes, yes.' I stuttered, flushed. 'Give him anything he asks for.'

My butler bowed himself out again. I could hear my servant offering whiskey and food to my guest. I gave a glance in the mirror; I knew I was flawless, but I couldn't help but look for reassurance that my sins were unmarked on my face. I straightened my jacket and strode out. I tread quietly down the stairs. Holmes was standing against the fireplace. He had something in his hand, a piece of cloth. I leaned on the doorframe. 'Mr. Holmes. You don't look like you have slept since our last meeting. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Holmes turned and the tracks on his arms shone out from his pale clammy skin.

Sherlock

I hadn't heard Gray enter. The cloth in my hand was too fascinating, the clues it held too important. I pocketed it as he spoke, and when I turned around, he seemed shocked at my appearance. I would imagine it was frightful; I had been sweating out the drugs among other things. Watson had been right: my addiction had come back with a vengeance. I had thought I had beaten it with my boxing, but the boredom of no cases, and the frustration of the current one had driven me back to my syringe.

'Mr. Holmes, are you well?' Gray inquired, 'I can have my man draw you a bath or cook you some food if you'd wish.'

He gave a cry of astonishment as he saw my knuckles. I had been shadow boxing to help me through the withdrawal and had done more damage to the wall.

'That would be agreeable with me, Mr. Gray, thank you. My roommate and I -ah- had a difference of opinion, and he threw me out. I had to spent the night in a less then savory location.'

'You got into a fight?'

'No no. This is what I did to the wall.' I waved my hand dismissively. 'Boxing is my way of coping.'

My companion nodded like he understood. He handed me snifter of brandy and the servant came in, saying that the bath was ready and promising to bring a light breakfast when it finished cooking. 'But what was the argument over? I thought you and that Dr. Watson had been together for years.'

'Yes, well, Watson's doctor side is too concerned with my usage of drugs.'

'You shouldn't have to be punished because you seek pleasure Mr. Holmes.' Gray murmured. He lightly touched the injection sites. 'Never be ashamed of wanting to be happy.' He looked up at me, his face serious, but his eyes shone. 'Never trust a man who is ashamed of wanting pleasure Mr. Holmes. He has either a dangerous secret or something he wants to sell you.'

I laughed, but the drug still had some sway over me. My knees buckled and I pitched forward. The brandy was spilt over Gray's shirt and jacket, the glass smashed on the ground. Gray caught me just before hitting the ground.

'Holmes! Are you alright?'

My head spun. 'Yes yes fine. Sorry about your shirt and the glass.'

'It doesn't matter; I hated this shirt anyway.' He gave me a winning smile. 'Now. Let's get you upstairs. If you want to convince Dr. Watson to let you back into your rooms you should probably at least look clean.

'Touché.' I muttered. I pushed my self up but almost fell again. It was only with Gray's help that I managed to get all the way up those stairs. He left me to wash while he went to find something that might fit me. The filth that came off me was horrifying. Gray called me to his room so I dressed in a robe I found and stumbled to his chambers. The attire he presented to me was a bit short in the arms, but it would do.

'We can go get you a proper shirt later after you've eaten.' he muttered as I came out from behind a dressing screen.

'Mr. Gray. I am very much obliged for what you've done already. You don't have to buy me clothes now too.' I insisted.

' Nonsense. I don't mind at all. You'll just have to make it up to me somehow.' His voice was distant, so I turned. All I saw was his bare back, unmarked, and pale. He had taken off the brandy-covered shirt, but hadn't gone completely behind the screen. I did a double take. I had to force myself to look away.

I cleared my throat. 'Yes, I shall. Do you like music Mr. Gray?'

'Very much so. I play the piano in the near by concert hall on weekend sometimes.'

'Well, then we shall go to a concert in Hyde Park tomorrow. It starts around noon but I shall be by about eleven to pick you up. How about that?'

He finished buttoning up his shirt and came completely out. 'That would be great.' he came closer to me, until he was inches away. His eyes were smoldering and I could smell a faint odor the club and his pomade. My heart quickened.

' Mr. Holmes, you are standing in front -' he whispered, leaning closer as he spoke. A rap on the door surprised us both, and he moved away, red faced. The servant gave me my plate of food and left. Gray lit a cigarette and sat down. 'Go ahead Mr. Holmes. I don't really have any appetite.'

I thanked him and went right ahead. The food was good and I felt better immediately. I looked up at my meal at one point to find Gray staring at me intently. He looked angry and the smoke curled around him sinisterly.

'Mr. Holmes, may I ask you a question?' His voice was a growl.

'You may ask me a question, but I may not answer.'

'What is your relationship with Dr. Watson?'

'Watson?' I laughed. 'The two of us have been friends for years. He has helped me on many cases of mine.'

'Yet he throws you out on the street after one infraction?' Grey scowled. 'Yes he is quite a friend.'

I coughed. 'There have been more... Incidents regarding my addiction. And others besides. It was only a matter of time, really.'

There fire was a burning in the boy's eyes. 'He can't treat you like that! You own that house as much as he does!'

I frowned. 'Calm down boy. I understand Watson's anger, but not yours.'

'Because you should be treated better then that!' he stood, his rage very apparent. His face was flushed. The temper he was throwing made he seem like a spoiled child. 'You are the greatest detective in England -no the world!- and you have earned some respect!'

'Watson will have forgiven me by tomorrow. There is nothing to get upset- '

I was cut off by Dorian. He had sprung forward and pressed his lips against mine.

'You deserve better then him.' he whispered against my mouth. 'I could give you anything. Everything.' I felt his lips against mine but the rest of my body was cold. I had, once, been with a man. I never payee any attention to women, save The Women, but even she wasn't interesting to me that way. I had exempted myself from any feeling of passion, save for my work. But, along with the ice of my skin, underneath was fire. The same fire that was in his eyes. 'I do find you... Interesting.'

Dorian

His back arched into me and his lips followed mine. I slid my tongue along his teeth and my hand ran through his hair. He ripped through my shirt, ruining the second one in an hour. I pushed him onto the bed and turn to lock the door. When my back was turned, I heard him pulling off his shirt. No sense in wrecking another. I smirked at him and strut over. My hair was tangled in my face and two spots of red were high on his cheeks. I ran my hand down his chest, stopping just above his waist. 'Let's take these off, shall we?'

He grabbed my hand before I could undo his pants. 'Not yet Mr. Gray.' He clutched my other wrist and flipped our positions. Now he was on top. 'I still think it's a bit early for that.' He found my lips again, but didn't stop there. He licked my chest and I moaned. When he bit my neck, I cried out but he pressed his tongue into my mouth stop the sound. My whole body arched into his and I could feel he was at the end of his rope. He released me of my pants and my pleasure was obvious. I took off his and threw them on over the clock. 'Now you have no idea what time it is. Is it still too early?' I panted.

'I don't think so.'

'Good.' I lowered my head below his waist, but he pulled me back up.

'I meant not today. Frankly, I just met you.'

'Don't you feel that connection Holmes?' I murmured right into his ear, 'This lust between us. I have been following your cases for years. and I know you are curious about me. Just let go Holmes. Don't be afraid of this.'

'Dorian.' He brushed my cheek like in the carriage, 'As much as you may be right, I have a client waiting at my apartments. I have to go.'

He got up, stiffly, and put on his-my- shirt and pants.

'So you're just going then.' I spat.

'Dorian, we're meeting up tomorrow. After the band plays, I have nothing booked. Consider tomorrow, all of it, my payment to you.' He winked and opened the door.

'Holmes.' I panicked.

He turned back and looked at me. His regard was cold, his posture upright and his hands were clasp behind his back.

'Please come tomorrow.'

He nodded and walked out. I had no idea why I said that last thing. I never care about the people I fucked. They're a one-time thing, maybe two if I like them, but never something to get attached to. Why did it feel like Holmes was worming his way into my heart?

Holmes

I walked back to Baker Street, feeling ashamed of myself. _Think of what his man has done to people!_ A voice shouted in my head. _How he's rip a hole in your life with his crimes. Then again, he has brought you some fair business, with all the clients looking for people Dorian had corrupted._ A simple trip to a concert won't hurt anything. I rationalized. I won't let him do anything like that again.

I arrived at 221 B faster then I thought I would. I fixed my hair in the reflection of a puddle and straighten my jacket. I opened the door and almost walked smack into Mrs. Hudson.

'Mr. Holmes! Watson has been looking all across town for you! What happened last night? There was a terrible racket with all that shouting.'

I patted her arm. 'Nothing to worry abbot my dear. Watson and I were just sorting out a problem. There shouldn't be anymore shouting. I'll go talk to him. His he upstairs?'

'Yes, but with the mood he's in, shouting with be unavoidable Mr. Holmes. Shall I bring you up some tea?'

'That would be lovely yes.' I patted her arm again and walked up the thirteen steps to our rooms. I rapped on the door.

'Holmes isn't in right now!' Watson called through the door. 'Come back tomorrow.'

'But you've been looking for me all day. Why would I come back tomorrow?' I replied, still talking through the door.

I head quick footsteps and the door opened. Watson was stranding there, disheveled and furious. 'Holmes! Where have you been?'

'Please, Watson. Let me explain. '

He ushered me in and slammed the door behind me. 'I'm listening.'

I sat down in my usual chair. 'Well, you see, after you kicked me out, of my own room I might add, I went to that charming little place I have on the corner of Bosley and Wichister and slept there. Do you recall I said I had met Mr. Gray last night? Well, I called down at his place, where he so graciously provided me with a chance to break my fast and new clothes. We spoke for a while and made plans for tomorrow. And now I'm here.' I picked off an imaginary piece of lint off my jacket. 'Really Watson. I have no idea why you were so worried. I have been places on my own before, you know.'

I looked up and found Watson collapsed in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. ' Holmes. The last time you were on your own that strung out on cocaine, I got a telegram from Scotland Yard saying you had broken into the zoo and were sleeping with the penguins.' Watson started.

'Really, Watson, I thought we had agreed not to mention that again.' I replied loudly.

'And before that, I found you floating down the Themes on a pallet, singing 'God Save the Queen.' He continued, louder then me.

'That was a special case Watson, I told you. The man I bought from had put something in it. I had no control over that.' I said, louder still.

'My point being!' He shouted over me. I quieted down. 'Holmes, my point being that whenever you cave to that drug, you do something stupid. Why would meeting Mr. Gray be an exception to that?'

'He-' I started

'Don't try to defend him Holmes. You know what he's done to people. Done to you.'

I jerked like me had slapped me. 'So you knew.'

'I'm not a simpleton Holmes.' he growled. 'And if you know what he's done, then why do you even talk to him? He is a curse Holmes. He will ruin you, like he's ruined everyone else. Like he ruined-'

'Enough Watson. You, like you so insisted last night, are not my nanny. If I want to become self- destructive, then it is my choice.'

'You are self destructive enough without that boy. That cannot be the only reas-' he stopped. His look changed to one of realization and horror. 'Holmes. Please don't-... You aren't.'

'You are right Watson: you are no simpleton.'

'Holmes. If he finds out he will murder you. Don't do this Holmes.'

'I must. If I don't, I will be haunted the rest of my days. '

'It is insanity!' he stood. 'I may have stood by some of your more outlandish schemes, but I will not stand for this!'

'Pardon me Watson.' I brushed by him and went through the door. 'I have things to do.'

Dorian

The rest of my day was spent moping. I had been so close to getting Holmes under my spell; a few more minuets and he would have been. What had held him back? He had been animalistic after I kissed him, more beast then man. But as he went to leave, he had been cold and indifferent, like he was when I had seen his picture in the paper or working on a case. I remember the face he had when I removed his trousers. He looked... I couldn't name it. Emotion did not come easily to me anymore. I thought about giving Harry a ring, but I didn't want any of his snide comments, not today. I was lost. My pursue of pleasure had given me direction, but I was becoming lost again. Holmes had given me a small flash of purpose, but I had no idea where to go from here. I tried to read, but the words nearly swirled on the page and bored me to death. I fell asleep around 6, and woke two hours later. The sun had gone down and had started to rain. On a whim, I left my house and hailed the first hansom I saw. 'Take me to a boxing ring. One by the docks.'

The cabbie nodded and whipped the horses. I watched the people through the window the whole way. Once, all those people would have intrigued me. Now, they merely filled me with apathy. The driver stopped just outside a small shanty. 'Now, 'is 'ere is one of th' best boxing rings on 'is side a town. Th' matches are second to none Mi Lord. One of the boxers, a fellow 'oo goes by the name a Thomas Cavell. Cavell's a real fighter, 'is bouts are some a th' best I've eva seen.'

'Thank you.' I muttered, and went in. The place was perfumed with the smell of cheap whiskey, sweat, and lots of men in a small place. I descended the creaky stairs and was nearly keeled over with the stench: it was stronger to the point that I was able to taste in the air. I gagged, but managed to stay standing. I went closer to the ring. I could hear men fighting over the loud cheers and cries.

'Lookin' ta place a bet gov'na?' A skinny man from behind the counter called. ''Is match is 'bout done, but Cavell's up next 'n' he's facin' Huxley. It'll be a good 'un! Odds are nine to one!'

'Uh, yes. I- I'll have two. For Cavell.' I stammered. 'How much?'

''Ree pounds minimum. Each. Any fing else?'

' Yes. I'll have a bottle of that.'

' Right. 'At's 'nother two.' I handed him the eight pounds total. ''Ere 'ou are gov'na.' The man looked over my shoulder at the ring. The cheering had escalated in sound; the match must have finished. 'Th' match's 'bout to start. I'd get closer if I was 'ou, gov'na.'

I thanked him and pushed my way to the edge of the wooden ring that surrounded the sandy pit. I opened the bottle with my teeth and took a swig. It burned as it slid down my throat. I took another one. The two men were already in the sand. A large, stout man was across from me, his balding head was large and his neck was thicker than both my arms. He took a mock bow when the crowed started to chant 'Huxley, Huxley, Huxey!'

Both of the men were striped to their waists, and neither were wearing shoes. The other, smaller, fighter was right in front of me, close enough that I could only see his back. It was marked with scars, but rippling with muscle. Though I could only see the back side of him, the second man seemed familiar. The men started to yell again, and one voice rose above the rest to tell them to begin. Cavell, I assume, began to shift his weight back and forth on his feet. Huxley gave a war cry and rushed forward. There were some blows exchanged, the second fighter's back always towards me. The onlookers were booing as the smaller one never truly attacked; he only slapped the bigger man or gave him a light tap. Then, the bigger man said something. I didn't hear what it was, but it seem to enrage his opponent. Cavell ducked under his attacker and flipped him across his back. Huxley fell into the wooden ring and the smaller man began to pummel him. That's when I caught a glimpse of the slighter man's face. It was Sherlock Holmes. His eyes were bright with violence and his face was twisted in anger. I felt my heartbeat quicken and my skin began to tingle. Holmes gave the man one last punch before scything his opponent's legs out from under him. The big man hit the floor with a grunt. I lifted the bottle to my lips, but I had finished it without knowing. He got up slowly, but wasn't even completely up before Holmes had whipped his hand across the man's face, blinding him. Huxley threw a wild haymaker but Holmes blocked it, twisted and threw a punch of his own into the man's face. The man lashed out but Holmes dodged it and roundhouse kicked the Huxley in the chest. Holmes kicked him so hard Huxley crashed through the wood and landed on the ground. He didn't get up. Holmes was left standing in the middle of the ring. He had an animal fury in his eyes. Like when we were kissing this morning. He turned and saw me standing in the crowd. He blinked and the fury disappeared. it was replaced with extreme... Lust.

Everyone had stopped talking. Holmes exited the ring and took some bank notes of the counter. He grabbed a bottle and came over to where I standing.

'Let's go.' he hissed, grabbing my arm.

We walked out and he shoved me rudely against the wall. I was glad for the dark; my face must have been flushed. 'What are you doing here?' he growled.

'I was watching a boxing match. I had no idea you were in the match!' I insisted.

He opened the bottle and drank almost half. He didn't say anything.

'Holmes I swear. I had no idea you were here. I came only to watch a match I swear. The driver-'

This time I was cut off. Holmes at threw the bottle down and crushed me against the wall across the alley. His body was on fire but his lips were like ice. I kissed him back and he tasted like sweat and blood. He was kissing me so hard my lips hurt; it was like he couldn't get enough. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw his eyes burning with passion. His hands slid down to my hips and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and locked my hands in his hair. 'Dorian.' Holmes whispered against my lips. 'Who are you? I feel anxious. Like I can't breath properly. What have you done to me?'

'You have done the same to me.' I kissed him with every word. 'I was drawn to this place. Everything filled me with apathy after you left. You are my only interest now.' I started to kiss him lower and lower until I was kissing the hollow in his collarbone. I was kissing him gently, but his bones were so fine, I though I might break them. His body leaned into mine, and he moaned. I ran my hands down his arms and his took off my coat. He spun and we fell against the first wall. I lost my shirt and he placed his palms over my heart. 'Your heart is beating so fast.' he murmured. I ran my hands over the muscles in his finely sculpted chest. They waved under my hands and tightened when I put my tongue in his mouth. He unhitched my legs and pushed me off him. I looked at him in surprise. 'What is it this time? An alley isn't good enough for Sherlock Holmes?'

He looked angry and pleased. 'Not in the least.'

I smiled my most coy smile. 'Perfect.' I turned the tables and shoved Holmes against the wall. 'Let me help you with those.'

I shimmied his pants off with my teeth. Holmes breathing had gotten ragged as had mine, though his whole body was tense. I looked up at him but his eyes were closed.

'Get up.' He growled. His voice was as dark as the night was. 'Stand up.'

I did slowly, the whole way kissing his body. When I had reached his lips, he threw me to the ground and lowered himself on top of me. The glass from the bottle was digging into my back, but I didn't care.

Our body rubbed each other, greased in sweat and burning with heat, our mouths always connected. Finally, Holmes took his mouth off mine and started to kiss my neck. I licked his ear and he groaned, barely audible. I bit it and he moaned louder. I ventured down, tasting as I went. His skin was a feast of flavors; his neck was his aftershave, musk, while his chest tasted like mint and spice. I bit his nipple and he cried out. I lifted my head and cocked it to the side.

'Don't.' He moaned, 'Don't stop.'

I smiled and continued my journey. He wasn't tense now, and in complete ecstasy. He would shudder with each breath, his body molding against mine every time I shifted. I flipped us, so I was in my preferred position. We were both wrapped up in this, whatever is was, and we could feel each other's pleasure. I was below his waist, at the curve in his hips. He was still wearing his knickers, as was I, but I was on my way to take those off him too.

'Dorian.' He breathed. 'Don't.'

I chuckled and kept going.

'Stop.'

I slowed. 'What now?'

'Not here, not like this.' He murmured. 'I don't want to think back on this with this alley way tarnishing the memory.'

'Then back to my place.' I kept kissing his lower body though. 'A hansom will be around somewhere.'

'I must get back.'

This time I froze. 'Again, you are leaving me. Holmes, why? Why are you doing this?' I stood and looked at him disgustedly. 'Do you not understand? You cannot ignore passion such as this! It will be your ruin Holmes!'

He had replaced all his garments and was leaning against the wall. 'I know, I know.' He sighed, it was a sigh filled with anguish and regret. 'Tomorrow, I am all yours.'

He got up and stumbled out of the alley. I heard his voice call a hansom and the clatter as it drove off into the night. I was angry. Didn't he see that I wanted this? That he wanted this? I felt the blood from the glass in my back drip down, but not for long. I roared and punched the brick alley wall. That was the second time that man had left me. Both times I yearned for him to come back. What was he doing to my heart? I found myself impatient for tomorrow to come, to see that man. A man who had just left me alone behind a club without so much as a goodbye. You know what this means. A voice said. I did. I had found a direction again. And its name was Sherlock Holmes.


	2. The end, among other things

**Characters belong to the people who created them. Except Huxley. Huxley is mine. **

**[A/N:The second part of two. It is done now. There won't be anymore. Sorry to all those who were enjoying this. Comments and reviews would be great.]**

* * *

><p>Sherlock<p>

Watson didn't say a word to me when I enter our rooms at midnight. He kept his head hurried in his paper and didn't move. I wasn't going to try and apologize. I was tired from my bout earlier. And from Dorian. I smiled slightly as I thought of him. Of what was to become of us. Which reminded me. I took the piece of cloth from my coat. It was a scrap of what seemed to be a wool jacket. I had found it in Dorian's fireplace, caught on the grate. It was covered in ash and smelt of smoke. I took my chemistry set from the liquor cabinet and my test tubes from the out of use dumbwaiter. I set them on the table and proceeded to experiment. I put bits of the cloth in different solutions, testing for chemicals and blood. It showed positive for two different things. I narrowed my eyes. I almost had him. There was only one more thing I needed. I got up from the table and sent a telegram to an old colleague of mine. I smiled, my work nearly finished. I picked up my violin from its case under my chair and began to play Mozart's 5th. Watson stood and went to his chambers, shutting the door with a clack. I hardly noticed. The music had me in her grips and I was unconscious to the world.

I showed up at Dorian's the next morning a few minuets late. The man I had telegraphed yesterday had misplaced my package and it took him a bit to find it again. I rang the bell and Dorian's butler came down the stairs.

'Mr. Gray will be with you in a moment.' he said stiffly. 'I was instructed to supply you with anything you require.'

'No, that is alright.' I dismissed him and continued to look around the grand entranceway I was in. The whole thing was a Russian pine, stained dark, and furnished spartanly. There was a panel of light wood above the mantel, suggesting a painting once hung there. I frowned, but kept going with my investigation. There was an astonishing amount of alcohol in the cabinet, and hidden else where in the room; under a couch, behind a curtain, beneath a loose floorboard. I found a small pile of tobacco swept into the corner. I rub it between my fingers to release the scent. It was familiar to me, but not something Watson or I had ever smoked. I knew exactly who's it was. I placed it delicately in my pocked and sat down as I heard footsteps on the upper level.

'Holmes!' Dorian greeted me, 'Forgive my lateness. I had gone to the club after you left, and I confess I did not return home until late.'

'Ah, well, it matters not. Are you ready to go?'

Dorian had a cup of something steaming in his hand. 'Yes, I only need to finish this.' He took another sip. I had to get to that cup.

'Oh, Dorian. It is chilly outside.' I invented. 'I'd bring a coat if I were you. I'll hold your drink while you go and fetch one.'

Dorian nodded. 'Very good. I'll be quick as a flash.' he handed me his drink, it smelled of tea, and took the steps two at a time. Making sure to look natural, I took a small, wrapped vial from my interior pocket, removed the packaging and poured its content into the cup. There was no visible difference to the liquid in the cup, but a slight bitter odor was mixed with the sweet smell of the Earl Gray tea. He came back down wearing a light overcoat and grabbed his drink as we made our exit.

We walked out to the hansom and took our seat. I rapped on the wall, and the driver got the horses going. The silence was awkward. Now that we were alone in this confined space, I could feel that Dorian was still hurt by last night, and his anger shimmered slightly in his eyes. Under all that though, there was a boy, barley containing his lust, having to hold back and control himself not to reach for me. The feeling must have been contagious; I suddenly found myself wanting his warmth, his skin next to mine, my lips on his. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I wasn't going to let emotion rule over what was right.

'Holmes?' Dorian sounded worried. I opened my eyes slowly and looked at him. 'Are you alright?'

'Right as rain.' I replied.

The color drained from Dorian's face. The cup dropped empty from his hands, his eyes widened and his whole body started to tremble.

'Where did you hear that?' He demanded, his voice raising to a shout. 'Who told you that expression?'

'Dorian, please...'

'That was Basil's favorite expression.' Dorian's voice was monotone now. 'He had said he picked it up from a friend of his.'

I desperately tried not to speak. It didn't work. 'Who are you to speak of him? You are his killer, are you not?' I spat.

Dorian

I looked at my hands. 'I mentioned him to you in the carriage two nights ago, so you might as well know the whole story. Basil had come over one night to talk before he left for Paris. We hadn't been together an hour before he asked me about his painting of me. I told him he could see it before he left. We went upstairs, to the old classroom, where I had kept it hidden. There was a mark or a scratch or something wrong with it, and Basil was disgusted in me for not taking better care of it. He started to yell at me and I... I felt so furious that he would yell at me. I had done nothing to that painting. It was entirely his fault anyway. Everything is.'

Sherlock cautiously touched my arm, and I came back to my senses. I cleared my throat and continued.

'I was angry. That justifies nothing, but it's the truth. I took a knife in the room and stabbed him in the neck. He died in there. Alan Campbell came later that day and burnt his body in that same room. I dumped the ashes in the fireplace and told the maid to clean them out.' I looked up at my companion. His jaw was clenched and he had his eyes closed.

'Did you know Basil?' I asked.

'I worked his case for his family two months or so after he disappeared. They were worried about him; they had received no news of him arriving at his new studio. It's been five months now. I suppose they never will.' He looked at me accusingly.

'Yes.' I had never hated myself more then right then, as I looking into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, filled with blame and disappointment. I had never felt so horribly ashamed of myself. 'The number of lives I have ruined is horrifying.' The responsibility of those destroyed lives began to crush me, and I fell against the wall of the hansom, limp, eyes shut as tightly as I was able.

There was a movement, and I felt Holmes put his hand on my shoulder.

'Dorian.'

I stayed limp. He couldn't help me, he couldn't make me forget.

'Look at me.'

I turned to him unwillingly and was rewarded with a soft kiss.

'You may have killed Basil, but you did not force him to come up to that room with you. Basil had his own choice, and he chose to go up with you. But, you must expect to feel guilty of what you've done. It shows that you cared for him and feel ashamed of your deeds.' he kissed me again. 'We are our regrets; they shape us and show who we really are. Do not be afraid of them.' He whispered.

I nodded and kissed him back. The driver stopped and we got out. Holmes paid him, for I was still too dazed; Holmes had to help me out the We were early: the first row wasn't completely full. We took our seats and I noticed that Holmes had wrapped my hand in his. His long fingers entwined with mine made me calmer and I couldn't help but smile.

The concert started, the ten piece band playing classics. Holmes was like a conductor: he waved his hand in time with the music and even gestured when a new instrument was to come in. He had his eyes closed during the entire concert and said not one word. I tried to lose myself like he did, but all the earlier talk of Basil haunted me, especially the way Holmes had said 'Right as rain'. It was a perfect echo of how Basil would say it; a undertone of sarcasm but said with a smile. I had a vision of Holmes speaking to me, but Basil's voice came out.

I must have fallen asleep, for my memory jumped from the band playing a slow song with vocals to Holmes shaking me, the band cleaning up. The concert must have been long as the sun was low in the sky. Everyone else had gone, it was just the two of us who remained.

'Mr. Gray, I had promised the rest of the afternoon to you, but if you're too tired...?' he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

I jumped up and tried not to look sleepy. 'No no! I am entirely wake, Mr Holmes. Let us return to my home, and we will continue from there.' I stifled a yawn, and climbed into the carriage Holmes had hailed. I could barely keep my eyes open.

'I'm sorry Holmes.' I muttered. I was half asleep against his shoulder. 'I don't know what's come over me.'

'Oh, it's probably something you drank last night. What say you to getting into bed, the two of us, and waiting till you've had a rest?'

'That'd be lovely.' I mumbled and dozed off.

I woke again when the rocking of the ride had stopped. I was aware enough to climb the stairs by myself, but Holmes walked behind me, a funny smile on his lips. We both undressed completely and slid into my bed. He turned to face me and brushed the hair out of my eyes. 'Sleep now. We'll be busy later.'

I smiled sleepily and dropped of the conscious world immediately to Holmes' kisses. I may have woken at one point because they had stopped, but the all-consuming tiredness pulled me back under and I continued to sleep.

Sherlock

The boy was asleep now, and he would be for hours. I slid the chain with the key off his neck, and crept out of the bed. I put my clothes back on loosely and left the room like I owned the house. I walked around the upper levels until I found a locked door. I tried the key, and the door creaked open. I slid in and shut the door behind me. Why did this feel so wrong to me? It was like I was lying to Dorian. But that shouldn't make you feel like this. I told myself. Something else is happening to you. I had felt similar effects before, but the reasons behind the feelings made no sense with my current situation. I dismissed them and kept going with my mission. I searched the room, looking for anything I could tie to him. A glint of yellow hidden stuffed inside a desk caught my eye. I picked it up. I knew what I was seeing but I didn't want it to be true. It was a scarf covered in blood. I continued in frenzy, searching for the murder weapon. I found it hidden in a cut out of the pages in a book. I pocketed both items and smiled. I had him now, tighter then a hangman's noose.

I gave the room one last look over and a curious sight drew my attention: there seemed to be a painting under a curtain. Perhaps it was the missing painting from over the mantle. I went over and pushed the draperies open. Nothing could have prepared me for what was underneath.

It seemed to be a full body portrait of a man, but it was one of the most hideous men I had ever seen. His skin was grey, covered in pockmarks and liver spots and was stretched so tightly across his skin I thought it would split. The few strands of hair he had hung limply around his face. His mouth was twisted into a sneer and the teeth that showed through were rotted and yellow. His eyes sparkled evilly, but were glasses over with a mask of indifference. His clothes were stained and torn. His nails were yellowed and cracked. His hands were covered in flecks of blood. I had heard tale of the ugliness of the old man Kelso, but why would e have himself painted with such details? A gold mark in the corner, the only spot of bright color in the whole piece, attracted my attention. I looked down and gasped. It was Basil's mark, clear as day. But why had Basil painted Kelso? I searched closer for a date. The date put this painting at a mere twenty years old. A smudge under the date called for my magnifying glass. I pulled it out and held it over the gold blur. The glass dropped from my hand. It crack when it hit the ground.

This was Basil's missing painting. The one that had spelt out his death. I reached out and gently touched the blood marks on the frightening creature's hand.

The picture of Dorian Gray.

Dorian

I woke, my chest in great pain, sweating and discombobulated. I knew immediately what was wrong. My painting. I flew out of bed, taking the time only to put on pants, and dashed to the classroom. The door was shut, but the key was still in the lock. An extreme fear began to build up inside. What would Holmes think when he saw what I really was? But a bigger question pressed all the others out. How did he know? I flung the door open and Holmes spun, rage in his eyes. The coverings of the painting were on ground and there was cracked glass by his feet.

'What are you?' he demanded, his voice a whisper.

I walked up to the painting. 'I am what Basil made me. I traded my soul to the painting, so I would not age nor show signs of sin, but the me in this piece would.' I barely recognized my own voice; it was sad and filled with regret. But, instead of sneering at the emotions in the voice, I found myself empathizing with it. I wanted Holmes to know my secrets; I wanted him to share my pain. I was tired of not having anyone to talk to. ' Basil had-'

'Do not speak his name!' Holmes bellowed suddenly. 'You have not the right!'

'Holmes!' I stumbled back at the sheer power of his voice. 'What-'

'You murdered him. He was only trying to help, but you denied his help and took his life.'

I tried to get angry, to feel the rage when Basil had been here. I couldn't do it. I understood what I did was wrong. I knew I had to accept my punishment. Holmes pulled out Basil's yellow scarf, a scrap of a wool jacket and shreds of tobacco from his pocket.

'This is all that's left of him.' An insane look had entered Holmes' eyes. 'Because you stole him from me.'

Sherlock

The shock in Dorian's eyes was understandable. It honestly made no sense that Basil Hallward and Sherlock Holmes knew each other, let alone were together. We had tried to keep it a secret, more for my sake then his, but he hadn't minded. It was true that his family had hired me to find out what had happened to Basil, but after a few weeks, they gave up, and I swore to find out his killer and do the same to him. It hadn't been chance that we had ended up in the same carriage; I had been following Dorian for weeks, I was even that had his usual place shut down. After all the work I had done for Lestraude and the Scotland Yard, they hadn't minded shutting down a gin house for a week or so. Everything I had done, said, even every touch, to Dorian had a purpose in my efforts to get the proof that he had killed Basil. I had gotten the bar tender to mix extra rum with Dorian's drinks to undermine his cautiousness. I had slipped something in his drink earlier to make him sleep. I paid off the cabbie to take him to the boxing ring I was at. Even the fight with Watson. I had planed to invent that I had fought with him, but Watson had decided to help me unknowingly.

Dorian just looked at me, pure sadness in his eyes. I blink. I must have said that all aloud. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled a knife from off the shelf.

'This is the knife that killed Basil.' he murmured, fingering the tip. He handed it to me hilt first. 'Go ahead.' A fire had lit its self in his eyes. The fire a man gets when he knows his end is near. 'If you stab the painting I will die. I don't care anymore. I have nothing left to live for. Harry's advice has led me only to pain. My life's one direction is...' he shook his head. 'Just do it.'

I took the knife in my hands and faced the picture. The sneer seemed to have lessened slightly, the evil changing to regret. I swallowed and brought the knife behind my head. Dorian closed his eyes. With a roar I lunged forward. I poured all my rage at Dorian into that knife. _What rage?_ A voice whispered. _You have no reason to be angry with him. He did kill Basil, but there is a reason for everything. The reason for you knowing Basil, and wanting to avenge him was to meet this man._ The voice rose louder. _Think of your time together. Did you ever have to restrain yourself from killing him? Being with him was easy, but not being with him was hard. _Now the voice was screaming in my head. _You two are not enemies! If you do this, your entire life will be filled with misery and disappointment! You have been searching for something to break the routine of life, to stimulate your mind! This is it! He is the answer! _I knew in my heart it was true. I had been so focused on trying to kill Dorian, I hadn't noticed I was falling for him. But it was too late. I couldn't stop the knife now.

Dorian

I hear Holmes give his cry, filled with anguish and hatred. Time passed impossibly slow as the knife came closer and closer to my soul. I shut my eyes; I didn't want to see my end. There was a _thunk _and I jumped. I opened my eyes slowly. There was no pain, no difference I could feel. I looked at Holmes. He was gasping for breath, the knife hilt still in his hands, the tip hurried in the frame.

'I can't.' His voice was horse and dark. 'I can't do it.'

I reached out and laid a hand against his cheek. He put his hand on mine. 'Your hand is so warm.' He looked up at me. 'You are beautiful, but I was blinded by my anger.' he sighed. 'Forgive my anger Dorian. I was a fool; a fool who couldn't see the whole picture.'

'You are no fool, Sherlock.' I murmured back. 'If anything, you are perfect. Your judgment was clouded, like mine when I killed Basil, but you mastered your rage and controlled it.' I placed my other hand on his face. I could feel the stubble that grew there, the wrinkles from his tireless pace and habits. I wasn't afraid of ageing anymore, nor disgusted. I wanted to age. I wanted to age along side him. I kissed him softly. 'You are my direction now Sherlock Holmes. I will follow you to any end.'

'And you. You are my answer to the apathy I feel.' Holmes smiled, 'I will not let go of the one thing that set me free of the bores of life. Though, if I am to be your compass, then I will need to set a good example for you to follow.' he gestured to the door. 'After you. I should think that your bed is too straight; we will need to change that.'

'But, you cannot say no to me this time Holmes. Twice now I have been denied. I have never experienced this before.'

'I will never say no to you again.' He kissed me to lock in his promise and swept me off to my bedroom. He tossed me on the bed and ripped of his shirt. He looked at mine own. 'Always getting in the way.' he muttered and pulled it off. It landed on top of his. We looked at the two tops. 'Just the way I like it.' I whispered and pulled him under me. 'This time, I get to command you.'

He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but I put my mouth on his and shut him up. I caressed his chest, still kissing him, and my hand made its way lower and lower. It made its way to his belt and unbuckled it.

'You are quite,' He panted between my vicious kisses, Proficient at that.'

'I've had practice.' I growled. 'Now shut up.'

He did as he was told, and I slid him out of his pants as I got out of mine. There now was only two layers now between us. I got my lips on his neck and he swooned. His arms were wrapped tight around my body, his nails clawing my back. I peeled off the last two layers between us and cast them aside. I let my kisses drift off his neck. They slid down his neck, and around his ribs. Holmes was arched away from me, but we both knew he liked it. He suddenly bucked against me, and with a fever I hadn't seen before, brought my face back to his and forced his tongue in my mouth. His hands were no longer on my back, but had found their place on the hollows under my hips. I anchored my hands in his hair and kept him close.

'Do it.' he moaned, 'Do it now.'

I had been waiting for that. I turned him over and thrust.

Sherlock

I could feel all of him. I was trying my best, but moans escaped me. I could tell Dorian was smirking. He was still kissing my neck, and continued to explore my back. I bit the pillow to stop from crying out. He laughed and leaned out. 'Your turn.'

I pushed him to face me. His tongue was sticking out slightly, just inviting to be kissed. I obliged and began my voyage down. I got to the flat expanse of his stomach before he was moaning and bucking against me. His skin was burning under my hands and slick with sweat. I flipped him back and made a move of my own. I licked a reflex tear from his face and moved down, my tongue trailing up his spine. I pulled out and he faced me.

'I love you, my direction.' he murmured.

'And I love you, my answer.' I whispered back.

And we fell asleep in each other's arms.

**Four weeks later**

Sherlock

'Come in!' I called our caller. The door opened and Watson entered.

'Watson! Always good to see you.' I called when I saw him

'Yes, you too Holmes. And Mr. Gray.' Watson nodded

'Good day Watson.' Dorian smiled.

'But what brings you here Watson?' I asked. 'I thought your practise was talking all your time?'

'It is.' He sighed, 'But one of my patients canceled on me. Which is what I came to talk you about.'

'A cancelation is hardly suspicious Watson.' I laughed.

'Not when this is the third cancelation.'

I sat up straighter and look at Dorian. 'What else do you know? Data data data, Watson-'

'Yes I know: you cannot make bricks without clay.' He cut me off. 'Well, he has a gimp leg and is missing his front incisor. He owed someone a lot of money: I believe that Moriarty may be involved.'

Dorian and I looked at each other. 'I do believe Holmes,' he said slowly, 'That we have a case.'

'I concur.' I murmured, 'But where to start?'

Watson cleared his throat. 'Would you have room for one more?' He asked delicately.

'Always room for you Watson.' I stood and shook his hand. 'Now, to your practice! I must look for clues.'

Dorian

Holmes sailed out the door, leaving the two of us behind.

'There he goes.' Watson sighed. 'I suppose we'd better catch up.'

'Is he always like that?' I asked. 'He's had a case since I've moves in, but he solved them the same day.'

'Yes.' He looked at me. 'You have a lot of peculiarities to get use to, Mr. Gray.' He motioned to the door. 'Shall we?'

I shook my head. 'No, you go on ahead. I have to find my gun, and you'd better stop him before he breaks into your filing cabinets looking for clues.'

Watson laughed. 'Right you are, old boy.' and left.

I waited for Watson to shut the front door and took my portrait from under my bed. I smiled as I saw the figure. He wasn't nearly as grotesque as before; the sneer was disappearing, the eyes were gleaming with innocence again and most of the hair had come back, its golden yellow restored. It seems Holmes was having a positive effect on me. I put the painting back. I hadn't talked to Harry since I moved in with Holmes. And I had the proof of it; marks were starting to show on me, a scar from a long ago injury, my skin starting to crease, my color starting to disappear. It didn't matter to me any more. I was happy, all because of him.

Sherlock

I tapped my foot waiting for the other two. I could see them in the window, silhouetted. I smiled as I could picture Dorian perfectly, all the little motions he's make with his words and the smiles. Watson left and I turned to the street. The world was so much brighter now; all colors back into the sky and the people. I no longer saw the as a bleak place, full of corruption. I saw the world as it was: infinite. All because of him.


End file.
